


Flotsam

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Crossover, Drama, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-18
Updated: 2009-04-24
Packaged: 2018-09-03 18:37:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8725831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: On the run from his abusive boyfriend, Jensen finds more help than he knows how to handle





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** I messed with Jensen and Jared's ages. This story starts in March 2005 and they are both 23, though Jensen is still older.  
>  Warning: There is no Sam/Dean in this story, sorry  
> Warning: Kids

Jensen goes down under the second blow. His head clunks against the hard edge of the coffee table and the room goes fuzzy round the edges. He stays down, curling his arms to protect his battered face. Patrick sometimes looses interest at this point in the proceedings, but Jensen isn’t wasting the effort of hoping for that, because it won’t make any difference in the long run.

 

He brings his knees up to his chest in time to catch two snap kicks on the shins instead of the ribs. It still hurts but at least nothing breaks. Patrick’s hands grab him roughly, shaking him loose from his defensive huddle. He can’t help the whimper that escapes from between his clenched teeth.

 

The high-pitched shriek startles them both. The coffee table jars Jensen’s back as Patrick drops him. Fighting up into a half-sitting position, he stares at the door in disbelief.

 

Minna’s standing there, four foot nothing in her pjs and bare feet, pale and terrified. She looks so small and Jensen’s whole heart seizes up with fear and love.

 

“No,” Minna yells again. “You leave my Daddy alone.” She rushes Patrick then, pummelling at him with tiny fists. The incredulity fades from Patrick’s handsome face and, with slow inevitability, is replaced by cold fury.

 

“What the fuck did you say?”

 

Snatching her up, he bats her across the room as easily as a kitten. Minna slams into the wall, sliding down to spill across the floor.

 

Jensen stares at her crumpled body and for a second he can’t move, can’t breathe.

 

Patrick stalks towards her,

 

“You dare call that whore Daddy!”

 

Jensen barely registers the familiar insult, caught up in the horror at seeing Patrick turn on Minna. He’d always believed Patrick’s daughter was safe from the man. That the tie of blood would keep her safe.

 

“You little bitch,” growls Patrick. His breath gurgles low in his throat and hisses out between his teeth.

 

Jensen’s hand goes unconsciously to his bruised jaw. That’s one of Patrick’s tells. It’s the one that means things about to get really, really bad.

 

Something inside him breaks. So loudly he can’t believe Patrick didn’t hear. 

 

Jensen’s love for Patrick, the reasons he stayed, everything holding him back, it all just cracks and falls away. Jensen stares across the room at a man he barely recognises. A man who is about to hurt his Minna.

 

The solid silver candlestick from the coffee table is in his hand. Gripping its comforting weight in both hands, he swings it like he’s aiming for a homerun. It smacks into Patrick’s back and he bellows with outrage.

 

Spitting out half-formed words, Patrick turns on him. His rage-warped face looks so ugly that Jensen briefly wonders why he ever thought the man was attractive. He smashes the candlestick into Patrick’s jaw, hard, and watches with satisfaction as the man collapses like a felled tree.

 

Abandoning candlestick and Patrick, Jensen drops to his knees at Minna’s side. He brushes her white face with shaking fingers, pressing gently against her neck, praying for a pulse.

 

Minna’s eye slit open, her face taut with fear. Then her eyes widen, lighting with recognition, and she flings herself at him.

 

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” she gasps, little girl fingers scrabbling for purchase against his shirt.

 

“Shush, shush, it’s okay, Minna mine,” he soothes. Hauling her up, he struggles to his feet. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he reassures, even though he knows he’s lying.

 

Minna sobs against his chest, silently because that’s the way Patrick’s trained them both. Jensen wonders how he managed to convince himself she would be okay as long as Patrick never touched her. It’s not okay. It’s never going to be okay.

 

Panic spirals around him, but Minna’s too tight grip on the collar of his shirt hauls him back. He glances around. They can’t stay here, in this silent house, where antique furniture and elegant knick-knacks stare down at them through the gloom with lofty disapproval. 

 

Patrick always fits into these high-class surroundings, even when his custom-fitted suits are dirty with Jensen’s blood. By comparison Jensen is just a scruffy nobody. Patrick has all his friends convinced Jensen is a brainless twink with a drug problem. There isn’t a soul who’ll listen to him if he accuses Patrick of abuse.

 

Well, Chris and Steve would, Jensen almost smiles at the thought of his two best, last, friends. He hasn’t seen them since their final big fight. They’d been nagging him again to leave Patrick, and yeah, Jensen hasn’t seen them since.

 

He could go to them now, he knows. No matter how pissed they are at him, they’d still take him in. But Minna is Patrick’s biological child, no blood relation to Jensen at all. 

 

He can’t expect Chris and Steve to hide a stolen child. Jensen’s on his own.

 

“We have to get out of here.”

 

“Yes please,” agrees Minna. She’s trembling, her whole body tight with the effort of holding herself back to barely perceptible shivers. If Jensen wasn’t holding her in his arms, he would never have noticed. Sick with guilt, he wonders how long he hasn’t been noticing. His mind replays the image of her body striking the wall and he has to swallow hard.

 

“You’re alright?” he checks belatedly, “you didn’t hit your head, did you?” He runs his right hand gently though her tangled hair, relaxing when he can’t find any sign of a bump.

 

With a deep breath he pulls his brain back into gear. He’ll only get one chance at this. He has to get it right. Minna’s relying on him. 

 

He realizes he can’t remember deciding to take Minna with him, that he just automatically included her too. It occurs to him he should check Minna _wants_ to stay with him.

 

“Minna mine, do you want to come with me? I’m not sure where we’re going. We’ll have to hide, maybe for a long time.” He resists the urge to swear out loud at his pathetic mess of an explanation. But how the fuck is he supposed to explain things to Minna? She’s only seven. Jensen’s the one who picks her up from school, cooks her dinner, talks to her... loves her. 

 

How’s he supposed to explain he’s not her real Daddy when he doesn’t even believe it himself.

 

“Stay with Daddy,” says Minna, nestling her head into the curve of his neck. Jensen settles her more firmly in his arms and brushes a kiss against her hair.

 

He’s going to need clothes, for him and Minna, money, and Patrick’s car keys. Anything else he’ll worry about later.

 

From the kitchen he grabs the three canvas shopping bags and the cash Patrick left him for housekeeping. He has a heap of jeans and tees, they’re from before-Patrick and he never quite got around to throwing them out, tucked away in the second drawer of the wardrobe in the spare room. He shoves them into one of the shoppers.

 

The wad of cash he has stashed there, that he painstakingly saved from the housekeeping without ever really thinking about it, he wedges safely into the very bottom of the bag.

 

Ransacking Minna’s wardrobe, he throws in her plainer skirts and tops along with the jeans and sneakers they never let Patrick find out about. Minna makes a desperate sound and grabs for her scrapbooks so he snatches them up too. 

 

Yanking the coverlet from the bed, he wraps it around her to keep her warm, scoops up her jacket, detours back to the spare room for his own, and then goes back again to grab his glasses.

 

Bags over one shoulder, he stops long enough to snag Patrick’s wallet and keys from the dish on the table in the bedroom, before racing out the door.

 

He doesn’t put Minna down once.


	2. Chapter 2

He’s ten miles down the road before it strikes him he’s driving blind with no idea where he’s going. Suddenly a numbness he wasn’t even aware of dies away. Time jerks back to its normal course and colors are abruptly too bright, lights too intense.

 

Shaking so badly he’s barely able to hold the wheel, he pulls over frantically, heart pounding in his chest. Opening the car door he leans out and throws up everything in his stomach in two great heaves.

 

He collapses limply against the steering wheel. Discarding his glasses, he rubs at his gritty eyes. Chill night air from the cracked-open car door pricks at his skin. His fever heat dies and leaves him cold in his sweat damp shirt. Minna is a bundle huddled at his side, her head on his thigh, his right hand is holding her safely in place.

 

Christ, he hadn’t even thought to strap her into her booster seat.

 

Jensen has to lean over and throw up some more.

 

Choking on bile and salt he sits back up and stretches out to scrabble in the glove compartment for the bottle of water he knows Patrick keeps there. He rinses and spits, then rinses again.

 

“Daddy?” Minna’s voice is cautious and Jensen hates that.

 

“It’s okay Minna mine.” All he has to do now is make it true, then he won’t really have been lying to her.

 

They sit there in silence. Cars roar past and he watches their red taillights fade into indistinct blurs. Above them the sky is inky black.

 

Jensen feels very small and helpless. 

 

“Minna?” he asks after a while. “Why did you leave your bedroom tonight? I told you stay there and lock your door.” 

 

He always tells her that when Patrick is in one of his moods. There have been a couple of nights that Patrick was far enough gone to hammer on her door demanding she come out. Fortunately Patrick never remembered those nights, so there were no repercussions except for Jensen’s inability to sit down, or do much of anything, the next day.

 

“He was hurting you,” accuses Minna.

 

Jensen opens his mouth to say it wasn’t anything worse than normal, but he closes it again without speaking. He never, ever wants Minna to start thinking such things are normal.

 

“It was my fault.”

 

Jensen closes his eyes. He really didn’t think he could feel any worse, but discovering he’s let Minna down in a whole other way – he just wants to curl up in a ball and fade away.

 

There are more important concerns though. He lifts Minna up to sit on his lap.

 

“Listen to me baby girl, absolutely nothing he did is your fault. Understand?”

 

“He was mad because Mrs Nicholson called him about the school play.”

 

“It’s not your fault,” says Jensen firmly. It really isn’t. Mrs Nicholson might have said it was about the school play but Jensen has a shrewd suspicion it’s actually about the two days Minna missed when Jensen felt too rough too walk her to school and the purple bruises he couldn’t quite hide when they finally made it in. Lately Patrick’s being getting less careful about marking him up him where it doesn’t show.

 

Minna doesn’t look convinced.

 

“Minna, it is not your fault. I should have been more careful. I make him mad just by breathing too loud sometimes.”

 

“He shouldn’t hurt you. I don’t like it.”

 

Jensen winces. He should have tried harder to disguise the effects of Patrick’s carelessness. In his defence, even with concealer, it’s hard to hide a black eye, but that’s no excuse for upsetting Minna.

 

“It’s okay Minna mine, he’s never going to hurt you again.”

 

“Or you.”

 

“Or me,” Jensen agrees, because why not hope for the best?

 

“Where are we going?”

 

Jensen has no fucking clue. “To the airport,” he says, before he thinks about it for two seconds and realises that taking a flight will allow Patrick to track them way too easily. He might even be there waiting when they leave the plane.

 

Jensen shivers. Not a good plan. He needs to start thinking. He rubs his his eyes again and replaces his glasses, hoping seeing clearly will help him think.

 

“Daddy?”

 

He looks down at Minna. She’s still wearing her pjs, her hair a snarled mess. She looks like a crazy person decided to drag her out of bed in the middle of the night. She looks cold.

 

“Here,” Grabbing her jacket, he helps her pull it on. Then he tugs her sneakers out of the bag and braces them against his thigh while she squirms her bare feet into them. As she does up the laces, he digs in his pocket for a scrunchie. Minna’s gotten fussy about being able to do her own hair recently. The results are usually a little lop-sided but, all the same, it makes them both proud.

 

He gets out the car to retrieve Minna’s booster seat from the trunk. Because Patrick is the sort of bastard who didn’t want his car to display any sign of his child’s existence. 

 

Jensen blinks at the the thought, he’s never critizied Patrick before, not even in the safety of his own head. It feels almost sacreglious but he can’t stop himself. Patrick was a bastard to Minna and Jensen _hates_ him for it.

 

He stops cold, the booster seat hard beneath his tightly clenched hands. He never noticed before, but somewhere along the line he stopped even liking Patrick. It was hidden by his infatuation but now that’s gone, there’s less than nothing left.

 

Jensen glances down himself. At the tailored shirt and slacks that Patrick dressed his doll up in, and suddenly he can’t stand to be trapped in their clammy respectability any longer.

 

He grabs a t-shirt and jeans from his bag and strips off by the side of the road. He’s aware, distantly, that he’s gone slightly mad and he doesn’t care. He kicks off the dress shoes and wriggles his uncramped toes happily.

 

Pulling on the t-shirt and jeans, he rubs his hand over his face and then runs his hands through his hair, removing as much of the styling gel as he can. He wipes his hands off on the shirt and drops it into the dirt and gravel. Picking up the booster seat, he climbs back into the car, abandoning the shell of his old life.

 

Minna’s got her hair mostly into a ponytail and he tugs it gently before kissing her forehead.

 

“Hey Minna mine, you ready to get going?”

 

She nods solemly. Jensen shifts her over so he can clip the booster seat in place. She should really be in the back but Jensen can’t bear to have her out of reach just now.

 

Once Minna’s safely in place, Jensen sits back and rests both hands on the steering wheel.

 

He has a plan, or the begining of one. He’s going to the airport, though not to catch a plane. He can leave Patrick’s car in long-term parking and hire a new car. It wont exactly be untraceable but it will slow Patrick down.

 

He sets his shoulders and turns the key in the ignition.


	3. Chapter 3

The world is growing hazy in the hot afternoon sunshine when Jensen pulls off the interstate. He can barely keep his aching eyes open, and once the hire car is safely stationary in a service station parking lot, he turns to look at Minna on the backseat,

 

“You’ll be okay for five minutes while Daddy has a nap?”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

He should make better arrangements, he knows, and he will, just as soon as he’s closed his eyes for a moment.

 

 

“Daddy, I’m hungry.”

 

Minna’s voice penetrates the dark. Jensen moves groggily towards it, struggling to make his uncooperative body obey him. Exhaustion weighs him down, but he hasn’t let Patrick stop him taking care of Minna yet, and he isn’t about to start now.

 

When he tries to rub his crusty eyes, his fingers bump into his glasses and he quickly pulls them off. He shouldn’t be wearing them, Patrick disapproves. Then he fights his eyes open, stares out at a parking lot he doesn’t recognise and Patrick’s anger is abruptly replaced as the immediate concern by the realization he has no idea where they are, other than away from Patrick. 

 

The sun has gone down, the air outside is cool and fresh. Minna is standing on the seat behind him, poking at his arm. He conjures a smile for her and she smiles tentatively back.

 

“Daddy, I’m hungry.”

 

Jensen cringes. Minna hasn’t had anything to eat all day but chips, chocolate and plastic gas station sandwiches. He hopes he bought her some water but his head is so clogged with sleep that he can’t remember.

 

God, but he has to do better than this. Minna deserves so much better that this.

 

“I’m sorry Minna mine.”

 

Her face falls, then she bravely fixes a smile in place. “It’s okay Daddy. There’s still lots of food left.” She ferrets through the heap of plastic wrappers on the seat and lights on something with a cry of triumph. Wriggling back onto her booster seat clutching her prize, she waves the half of a leftover sandwich at him.

 

“See, I’m okay.” She takes a bite, chewing determinedly on the rubbery bread. 

 

His arms ache to hug her but he settles for catching her eye in the rear-view mirror and winking,

 

“We can do better than that. I’m sure there’s a diner round here someplace.”

 

He pulls up outside neon lights and he and Minna go inside. It’s busy, crowed with people and a blaring jukebox. All eyes in the place turn to them and they both shift uncomfortably under the attention. Feeling horribly self-conscious Jensen immediately gives up on the idea of eating in.

 

The waitress smiles widely at him,

 

“Are you all right, sweetie?”

 

She’s an older lady, with overly permed hair and too much eye-shadow, but she keeps smiling, so Jensen shuffles a little closer to the counter. 

 

“Uh.”

 

“It’s okay, sweetie.” She leans over the counter and rests her hand on his arm. Jensen freezes, he doesn’t want to pull away in case he makes her angry but he doesn’t want her touching him either. He can’t even back away because Minna’s pressed tight up against him, hiding her face against his t-shirt. Focusing his attention on the waitress’ bright red nails, he softly asks for,

 

“Burger and coffee to go, please.” One glance down at Minna and he knows it will be impossible to get her to say a word. All he can of her is her messy hair. She’s not good with crowds. “And a burger and fries with a vanilla milkshake.”

 

“Sure sweetie.” But the waitress doesn’t leave, in fact she looks ready to ask him more questions. His arm starts twitching involuntarily under her hand and she finally lets him go. Jensen draws his arm back to curl against his chest and rubs the spot she touched with his other hand.

 

The waitress’ face stiffens and Jensen hurriedly pays her, tipping extra to make up for his gaucheness. Thankfully Minna then claims his attention, tugging his arm and, when he bends his head towards her, whispering that she needs the bathroom.

 

Ignoring the loud, exuberant crowd was easier when something was demanding his attention but once he and Minna are back by the door with nothing to do but wait for their food, Jensen’s mind starts to work against him.

 

Strangers make him nervous. He’s always waiting for the moment they discover his secret. Sometimes he feels like he walks around with ‘pathetic loser’ stamped across his forehead and in crowds this sensation is magnified until he’s constantly on alert waiting for someone to laugh and point. At least with Patrick there wasn’t that relentless anticipation of being found out.

 

Jensen starts to breathe shallowly through his mouth. He reminds himself that he doesn’t care what strangers think of him, but that’s a lie and always has been. Patrick’s face looms in his mind, not his furious face, but the amused, teasing one as he tells Jensen he’s lucky to have Patrick because nobody else would have such a pathetic loser.

 

And God, Jensen’s never realized before just how right Patrick is.

 

All he’s doing is ordering dinner and he’s spazzing out. He can feel his pulse rocketing through his body, his legs are shaking with the force of it. Swallowing hard against the queasiness in his stomach, he presses his trembling fist to his mouth.

 

The waitress is saying something to him but Jensen can’t hear her. Six weeks ago, he had a panic attack in the drugstore because he couldn’t find Patrick’s preferred shampoo no matter how hard he looked. This feels exactly like that. Back then, he keeled right over in the store and there was an enormous fuss, and they called Patrick away from his work, and Patrick was so mad, and oh God, Jensen can’t breathe.

 

“No, no, no.”

 

Minna’s voice makes it through his fog of panic. It’s high-pitched and frightened.

 

“No, no.”

 

Jensen takes a great gulp of air and chokes on it, gasps, gulps and tries again.

 

“Sweetie, are you all right?” asks the waitress.

 

He knows the answer to that one, “’M fine.” 

 

It’s almost true. His chest is heaving for air like he’s outrun the devil, he’s cold with sweat and his legs are still wobbly but the panic has finally released its grip on his throat.

 

“Is there someone I can call for you?” 

 

“No,” he gasps, “no, no, no.”

 

“I told you so,” Minna bosses.

 

Against the odds, Jensen feels his lips twist up into a smile. Damn, but he loves that little girl.

 

“We’re okay.” He manages to actually look the waitress in the eye and she nods,

 

“All right then. Your food’s ready.”

 

There’s an extra coffee he didn’t order and didn’t pay for. He tries to hand it back but the waitress shakes her head.

 

“You look like you need it, sweetie. Besides if you ate in you’d get a free refill so this is just a sort of pre-fill refill.” She chuckles at the tangle of words and Jensen feels the strange urge to laugh too.

 

Collecting up their drinks and tucking the bag of food under one arm, he gives her an awkward little wave.

 

“Uh thanks.” He wants to apologise for having a meltdown in her diner but has no idea how.

 

“No problem sweetie. You be careful now.”

 

He smiles weakly and backs out the diner, Minna still attached like a limpet to his side.

 

Back in the car, he locks the doors, puts the key in the ignition before he finally relaxes. He abandons any idea of stopping at a motel for the night. In the car they are safe. As long as they keep moving, Patrick can’t catch them, nobody can catch them.

 

Jensen’s heard that the first forty-eight hours are the most critical in finding a missing person and he’s desperate to believe that if he can just keep moving for those forty-eight hours, nobody will ever find them. Burning his tongue on to too hot coffee as he drives one-handed is a price he will happily pay.

 

Minna is asleep on the backseat as soon as she’s finished eating and he stops so he can lean back and tuck a t-shirt in place to support her lolling neck. His own jacket, he tucks carefully around her as a blanket. Smiling, Jensen settles back in his seat and sets off back into the darkening night with Minna safe and warm behind him.

 

 

It isn’t until after they reach Nebraska that exhaustion wins out over paranoia and Jensen stops again. Sunrise had given him fresh energy but now it’s mid-morning and all he wants to do is sleep. 

 

Forcing Minna to wait in the car while he sleeps isn’t something he can do intentionally, so he battens down his reluctance to leave their cocoon, and decides to find a motel. They should be pretty safe, he doesn’t think Patrick could pick out Nebraska on a map. He knows he’s too punchy from lack of sleep when that thought makes him giggle and picture Patrick’s face as he points blindly in the direction of Canada.

 

Sobering quickly, because laughing at Patrick is never a good idea, he pulls off the interstate and stops outside the third motel he spots. It’s smarter than a Motel 6, clean and well-cared for. It’s nicer than he can afford really, but he knows once his head hits the pillow he’s going to be dead to world and he wants Minna to be as safe as she can be. 

 

“Minna?”

 

She looks up from her patient work on her scrapbook with glue stick and a postcard Jensen bought two gas breaks earlier.

 

“Come on,” he said, “you better bring that with you. I’m afraid Daddy is going to need to sleep for a bit. I’ll get you some chips from the vending machine and we’ll go out for breakfast later.”

 

Minna carefully closes the scrapbook and carefully holds it flat between her hands. Jensen opens the car door and helps her down. She looks up at him with big yearning eyes but Jensen knows she’s not actually going to ask.

 

So he bends down and lifts her up into his arms.

 

“I’m a big girl, Daddy.”

 

“I know Minna mine, but I was feeling lonesome and I thought you might let you hug you for a bit.”

 

“Oh,” she tilts her head and studies him suspiciously. Jensen bites his lip against the urge to laugh. Eventually she relaxes into his hold. “It’s okay Daddy. You can hug me. I wouldn’t want you to be lonely.”

 

Jensen rubs the side of his face against her hair and squeezes her a little tighter.

 

Inside the motel reception everything is spick and span and beige. A television hums as it plays quietly and there’s a ferocious scent of faux-pine air freshener. Jensen catches the door so it closes without slamming and approaches the desk. The woman sitting there, platinum blonde hair in a bun and eyes glued to the television, reminds him so much of his own Grandmother that he can’t help flinching. 

 

She looks up and stares at him as he smiles his best smile. As she continues to stare, his smile wilts a bit. Those dark sharp eyes seem to catalogue the miles he’s driven, the exact value of his clothes and every bruise on his body.

 

Eventually he has to duck his head away from her beady-eyed scrutiny and swallow down the urge to apologise for cluttering up the place. He hugs Minna a little tighter and steps forward, “I, I was looking for a room.”

 

“Uh huh,” she nods. “Sorry honey, but we can’t help you here. You need the Black Dog Motel, Sweetwater, next county over.”

 

Jensen blinks a little. He knows he’s not respectable enough for this motel but he still can’t quite believe they’re turning him away. He didn’t even realize motels did that. If he was on his own he’d slink away with a flaming face but his Minna is not going to sleep in the car again.

 

“Look, I just want to stay the one night.”

 

“Black Dog Motel,” she repeats. She nods once and then seems to blank Jensen from existence, going back to staring at the television.

 

Jensen stands there feeling stupid. He doesn’t want to get back in the car. He’s so tired he could probably fall asleep right here in the reception. His eyes are just flickering shut when he hears footsteps on the stairs.

 

“Nana, who’s there?” The young woman is an unwrinkled version of the woman behind the desk. She even has the same fine, platinum blonde hair though hers billows around her face in carefully sculpted waves.

 

“I was -” Jensen begins.

 

“Black Dog Motel,” says Grandma.

 

Jensen is given another visual inspection.

 

“Oh yes,” says the young woman, “of course.”

 

“But,” Jensen’s so tired and frustrated he can feel tears starting to collect behind his eyes. He screws them tightly shut because he is not going to let them see him cry.

 

“Oh, how silly of me. You need a map.” She reaches behind the desk, pulling out a map. Two quick practised flicks and it unfurls easily. She traces out a route for Jensen and he nods and uh-huhs as seems appropriate. Truthfully, he just wants to get out of there before he embarrasses himself any worse.

 

“There you go then.” She smiles as she hands it to him, and up close Jensen can see she’s young, possibly even younger than him. “Seriously, you just head straight there.” She grins at Minna, “You make sure your Daddy heads straight there, okay honey.”

 

“Uh thank you.” Jensen retreats backwards as quickly as he can without falling over, which isn’t as fast as wants.

 

“It’s no problem.” Her smile widens into something broad and happy and Jensen can’t believe she is trying to be anything but helpful, which just confuses him even more.

 

Too tired to fight and unable to believe she meant him harm, he follows her directions as best he can, praying that it isn’t some sort of trick and that everything will make sense once he’s had some sleep.

 

Before he reaches the motel he stops in Sweetwater proper for coffee. More caffeine might stop the world flickering in and out of focus and he needs something to prepare himself for the attempt at checking into another motel.

 

The waitress, chewing noisily on a stick of gum, gives him a comprehensive once over.

 

“You headin’ to the Black Dog?” she asks between chomps.

 

Jensen isn’t sure what the right answer is, so he tries the honest one.

 

“Um yes.”

 

“Uh huh,” she nods to herself, then yells towards the kitchen, “Brad, we need a coffee to go, and waffles.” She flicks back to Jensen, “You like waffles?” 

 

“Um yes. My daughter...”

 

“And a milkshake,” she hollers. Then turns back to Jensen and snaps her gum impatiently.

 

Jensen stabs a nervous guess at what she wants. “Vanilla,” he asks tentatively.

 

“Vanilla milkshake, Brad.”

 

The rest of the customers are staring at him. One of them even crosses himself and Jensen cringes at the thought that not only does he have ‘pathetic loser’ stamped across his forehead but apparently also ‘gay’ as well.

 

The food and drinks arrive with miraculous speed and she shoves them straight at him. It takes Jensen a second to remember he’s supposed to pay.

 

“Oh no,” she waves him away. “Your money’s no good here.”

 

“But,”

 

“No, you just remember us to the Black Dog, okay?”

 

Jensen isn’t sure he likes that so when she turns her back, he leaves ten bucks in the tip jar by the register and all but runs from the diner. 

 

Minna’s delight at the waffles makes it worth it though. Jensen takes a sip of his coffee.

 

“Okay, Black Dog Motel here we come.”

 

Minna mumbles an agreement through a mouthful of waffle and Jensen puts the car in gear.


	4. Chapter 4

Wanting to get a good look before he stops, Jensen slows the car down until they’re just coasting as they approach the motel. 

 

The Black Dog is not an impressive sight at first glance. Eleven, small, prefab cabins cluster in a shallow U around a gravel lot, deserted but for a dusty, black Chevy. A shed serving as a garage sits to the left, three broken down cars on its concrete forecourt. One good puff of wind seems to be all it would take to blow it the whole thing away.

 

Jensen breathes easier just looking at it. It’s too shabby to judge him wanting, but at the same time it’s cheerful scruffiness reminds him of Chris and Steve. It almost feels safe.

 

Two dogs clamber to their feet as he pulls in. They bark at the car a desultory couple of times, then, job done, one flops back down to snooze in the shade. The other stays on its feet watching Jensen as he swings out the car and stretches his aching back, but it’s more curious than threatening so he doesn’t hesitate in coaxing Minna out the car.

 

When her feet hit the ground, she staggers a little and Jensen winces. He’s not only the only one to have spent too long in the car.

 

The dog barks again and trots away towards the three cars. Turning his head to watch it, he sees a mechanic sliding out from under one of the cars. As the man stands up, Jensen’s eyes grow wide with surprise.

 

The mechanic is _tall_.

 

Probably even taller than Patrick. 

 

As he stares, the man raises a hand in greeting and starts to stride over. He’s wearing blue jeans and a grubby white undershirt that shows off his broad shoulders and muscular arms.

 

Jensen can’t stop himself retreating until he backs into the car. With one hand on the warm metal roof, keys in the other hand and Minna pressed tight against his side, he feels more secure and manages a smile. 

 

The mechanic stops a short distance away and flips his floppy brown hair out of his face with a grease-smeared hand

 

“Hey y’all,” he calls.

 

Jensen blinks at the twang of Texas, he hadn’t expected to meet a fellow exile all the way out here.

 

“Hey,” he replies, insensibly reassured by that touch of home. Patrick had disapproved of Jensen’s hick accent until he managed to successfully cover it over.

 

The dog barks again and cozies up against the man, who scratches behind her ears.

 

“I’m Jared.”

 

“Hey,” Jensen says again stupidly.

 

“You looking for a room?”

 

“Yes. If there’s one available. Please,” he adds because it can’t hurt and if they turn him away here, he really will break down and cry.

 

“Well, ah here he is.” Jared’s eyes look past Jensen and Jensen turns to see another man emerging from reception.

 

This man is about Jensen’s height with short spiky hair and a determined expression. He’s walking with a slight limp and his right eye is covered by a black eye patch. Jensen blinks because Nebraska seems an odd place to find a pirate.

 

“Dean, these guys are looking for someplace to stay.”

 

Jensen is subjected to that familiar once-over. Taking a deep breath he girds himself to argue. They have to stay here, at least for the one night, he’s just too exhausted to go any further.

 

“They sent us here, some motel,” embarrassed, Jensen realizes he has no idea where they’ve come from, “Some motel,” he repeats, “said we should come here, for some reason. I don’t know why.” He would say more but he’s not sure he’s being very coherent at the moment so he shuts up instead.

 

The pirate, Dean, smiles. “It’s okay man. Probably just cause of your kid. We kinda collect kids here.”

 

Jared tips his head back and roars with laughter, “Way to sound creepy there, dude.”

 

“You want to do this, JollyGreen?” Dean glowers but Jensen’s almost positive he’s not actually angry.

 

“Can’t be worse than you,” replies Jared cheerfully and turns to Jensen. “What my incredibly smooth boss meant to say was that he has a notorious soft spot for rug rats having far too many of his own.”

 

“I do not, I,” Dean’s defense is cut off as he pivots quickly to catch a small girl in a sundress and a too big cardigan about to take a header off the reception porch. Scooping the toddler up in his arms, he kisses her forehead and settles her on his hip. Jensen can see she leaves finger prints of sliver and blue paint on his flannel shirt.

 

Patrick would never have let Minna near him with sticky fingers and Jensen’s glad about that because Patrick’s reaction to sticky fingers would have been... bad.

 

He’s holding his breath as Dean inspects one guilty blue palm. Dean shakes his head and sighs.

 

“Mucky pup,” he chides affectionately.

 

Relief almost makes Jensen dizzy. They’ll be safe here while he sleeps, he’s sure of it. He can finally relax and let his guard down enough to rest. As he sways in place, he is surprised to see multiple Deans and Jareds appear until the originals are just blurry smears, but he can’t quite summon the energy to be concerned, not even as everything gets fainter and darker.

 

Dean yells and Jensen tries to react but his legs give way and the darkness swallows him whole.

 

 

“Jared!” Dean roars.

 

Jared is already moving. The poor guy has been getting paler and paler, swaying in place like a tree in a strong wind, when his eyes roll back and he collapses like his strings have been cut. Forewarned, Jared has time to get his arms around the guy before he can hit the ground. He struggles for a second to secure his hold, the guy is completely gone, his arms and legs limp and useless.

 

“Can you manage him?” demands Dean.

 

“No problem.” Jared props the guy up against him. “Not nearly as heavy as he should be.” 

 

The guy’s as tall as Dean but much skinnier, too skinny. He’s also goddam _green_ with exhaustion. The dark patches under his eyes are like bruises and he has actual bruises: a fresh purple one high on his right cheekbone, an older green-brown one on the jaw line and sickly-yellow, hand-sized bruises bracelet each wrist. Jared’s pretty sure there are more, worse, under the guy’s clothes. 

 

Dean sighs, “Yeah, I got that.”

 

“They staying?” Jared checks. He can’t believe Dean will turn them away.

 

“Yeah, can you put him in between Annie Rose and Morgan.”

 

Okay, now that surprises him, “Really?”

 

Dean glowers.

 

“Okay, okay.” He shifts his grip, gets one arm under the guy’s knees and hauls him up into his arms. Fireman’s lift would be easier but it’s kinda undignified and he figures the guy deserves better than that, it’s not as if he has far to go.

 

“You leave my Daddy alone.” The guy’s daughter is clutching at his belt loop and trying to glare but is too scared to make it stick. Jared looks her over but he can’t see any obvious injuries. Her dark hair is a matted mess and she’s wearing pajamas under her denim jacket but it looks like a bath and a couple of good meals will put her to rights, thank God.

 

“It’s okay Princess,” he tries to reassure, “I’m just going to carry him to your cabin.”

 

She doesn’t look convinced. 

 

“Your daddy’s tired, sweetheart,” says Dean, “he needs to sleep in a real bed.”

 

That gets a solemn nod of agreement.

 

“So Jared’s going to help to your cabin. Why don’t you go open the door for him. It’s the one with blue door.” Dean crouches down to the girl’s level and points out the cabin. “Can you do that for me sweetheart?”

 

Jared watches fascinated as the Dean-charm works its magic. His boss has the spooky ability to annoy the shit out of anyone over the age of thirty without even opening his mouth. Anybody under the age of ten, however, and they are instantly best-buds for life. Jared likes to tease him it’s his mental age and Dean always tells him he’s one to talk. Then Jared usually proves Dean’s point for him by sticking his tongue out. 

 

However it is Dean does it, he does it now. The girl’s face softens and she almost smiles. “Okay,” she whispers.

 

“Thank you sweetheart.”

 

Jared starts after her as she leads the way to the cabin. As she walks, she keeps checking behind her to make sure he’s still there. Jared smiles each time but never gets one in response.

 

Opening the door, she watches him carefully as he carries her father inside. The beds are already made up and the girl hurries over to one, jerking the blankets back so Jared can plunk the guy down on the bed. He isn’t wearing shoes, and his socks are a mess so Jared gingerly pulls them off and checks his feet, which need a wash but are otherwise okay. 

 

He considers stripping the guy’s jeans off and decides against it. His sleep might be more comfortable but the waking up wouldn’t be, besides his daughter is watching Jared like she’s about to yell ‘rape’ at any moment. Discretion definitely being the better part of valor, Jared just tugs the blankets over the guy and leaves him be.

 

“We better leave him in peace.” He holds his hand out to the girl but she just skips smartly out the door ahead of him. She waits there until Jared leaves the cabin, then follows a couple of steps behind as he walks across the lot.

 

Sadie comes bounding up to him and Jared pats his dog.

 

“Do you like dogs?” he asks, because he doesn’t want the girl to be frightened and Sadie is a big dog.

 

Although she nods her head, she looks very cautious, pulling herself fully upright in a way that suggests what she’d really like to do was get higher up by climbing on a chair, or possibly a person. Jared knows there’s no chance of being allowed to lift her up so he clicks his fingers to keep Sadie with him and away from her. 

 

Dean, the bastard, has vanished and Jared has no idea what to do next. Kid-wrangling is Dean’s job, not his.

 

“Do you like cars?” Since the dogs seem to be out, cars are the best Jared can do. Her nose wrinkles but she nods, Jared decides to take what he can get.

 

“This is a Ford. The engine needs…” and Jared’s away. He always babbles when he’s nervous and being stared at by huge doubtful eyes is making him very nervous.

 

After about five minutes, he realizes she is actually paying attention to him and that steadies him enough to slow down and start making more sense. As he explains the problem with the alternator, she even creeps closer to him so she can peer under the hood.

 

He can see her relaxing by degrees and when he deliberately contradicts himself her whole face screws up, although she doesn’t say anything.

 

He corrects himself and she relaxes again. Just as Jared is casting about for a way to get her a drink without alarming her, Dean solves his problem by sending Ruthie out with a glass of water. He keeps talking as he watches carefully. He needn’t have worried though, the bigger girl takes the glass of water gently and whispers thank you. Ruthie beams.

 

Jared grins at them both and settles down to talk himself hoarse.


End file.
